


Call Me A Good Boy

by Froggyflan



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, Praise Kink, so much praise kink, that's the whole thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-07-29 20:43:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7698763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Froggyflan/pseuds/Froggyflan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He says it as a joke, but it doesn’t turn out that way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Call Me A Good Boy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coyotes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coyotes/gifts).



> This is a trade fic with jackwynand.tiumblr.com because they are the reason I write filth like this.

He says it as a joke, but it doesn’t turn out that way.

They had been on the road for hours, nearly a full day spent in the unforgiving sun and radiation of the outback. The wind is hot and whips them both as the bike muscles along the broken highway. There is sand in everything they own. Junkrat whines about it getting into his eyes, forgetting he had pinched a pair of ratty goggles from some poor dead son of a bitch they’d found stewing like roadkill. Roadhog smacks him in the back of the head to jog his terrible memory. The skinny thing pitches forward in the sidecar before he pops back up in revelation.

“Oh yeah!”

When the evening comes, the red earth is washed over in blue, and the stars paint a dirty canopy through the permanent smog. Junkrat had collected what he supposed would make a decent fire: A wooden spoon, a dusty moth-ridden shirt, and an entire fucking bush. He sets it alight before he could even open his mouth, and it rages into an inferno that could be seen for miles. Junkrat looks up at the billowing black smoke taking over the sky, then at Roadhog, smiling as bright as the stars had been, once upon a time.

“Opps!”

Babysitting was something he’d come to terms with. The kid is rambunctious, and for the longest time he thought he’d be untameable. But that night, air thick with burning shrub, he’d managed it.

“Well, at least it’s nice and warm, right? Nothin’ worse than wakin’ up with the shivers.” Junkrat threads his fingers together and puts them behind his head, stretching in the orange glow. Roadhog doesn’t have the energy to hit him or tell him he’s an idiot. The fire meant they’d be spotted by every bounty hunter this side of the canyon. He takes a deep breath, knowing he would need to stay awake all night to make sure they didn’t get flayed in their sleep. He’s beyond annoyed.

“Whatever you say, boss.”

The response to that was something he wasn’t expecting. The kid turns to face him sharply, eyes owlish and mouth hung open just slightly. The garish orange and yellows dances across his face, and a big dumb grin spreads across it slowly.

“Boss, huh?” Junkrat hums, and there was something there that wasn’t quite right. His eyes dart about like he isn’t sure what to do, “I really like the sound of that.”

That had set something off, made something start ticking.

After that night, Junkrat had made it a point to try to do things himself, things Roadhog had always done for him. Granted, Roadhog should have never done those things in the first place, but he knew if he didn’t, nothing would get done. He’d be the one to set up their improvised camp, pulling out bedrolls, unpacking, making perimeter checks. It wasn’t difficult stuff, but the boy had always been too fidgety and wild to stop and function like a human being. Junkrat did decent work, and he’d smile at him with big yellow teeth. When Roadhog asks him why he decided to start pulling his weight all of a sudden, the boy tenses and rambles on about how he can do things just as good as Roadhog. That makes Roadhog laugh.

Junkrat would always be looking at him, like he was waiting for him to do something. His eyes are always so big and round and begging. Roadhog would glance at him and bark out a “what?”. Junkrat would shrug and huddle back into his sidecar. Roadhog didn’t care what he wanted, but the curiosity was starting to get to him. Nothing ever got to him.

He notices the shift of Junkrat’s demeanor. He’d started standing up a little taller. That tire is still strapped to his back, making him hunch with the weight of it, but he makes the effort to straighten his crooked spine, for whatever reason. Roadhog hates that he notices these things.

When they run into hostiles, Junkrat usually lets Roadhog take care of it. He’s bigger and stronger and all he has to do is fire one well aimed shot and the shrapnel does its job. But now Junkrat is the one firing the first shot, a sparkling grenade lobbed directly into someone’s face makes the rest of them hightail it the fuck out of there, and they would not come back.

Junkrat looks at him after they’re all gone. Looks at him and waits.

Roadhog gets it.

“Did ya see his face? Well I mean, before I blew it off.”

Junkrat scurries around their makeshift camp like a little animal, kicking at the dirt and punching rocks. They’d found an alcove against the canyon, and it looked like they weren’t the first ones to set up shop there. The ground is littered with old musty blankets full of bugs and rusty tin cans. Junkrat gathers them all up and tries to put them in the sidecar, but Roadhog smacks it out of his arms right quick. Junkrat straightens up again, hands on his hips and tilting his chin up like he’s a bigger man. “Yeah, didn’t need that junk anyway.”

Roadhog watches his ward move things around, rustle the debris around like he was building a nest. He’s distracting himself, and the way he glances at Roadhog over his shoulder is neither subtle nor secretive. Junkrat is waiting for him to say something. He’s coiled up tight like a spring, his hands twitching in and out of fists.

Roadhog regrets it before he even says it.

“You did good, boss.”

Junkrat shoots up like a firework and the grin that’s directed at him is so endearing it physically sickens him. All that pent up nervousness explodes, trembling and working his fingers together like they’re going to twist into knots.

“Ya think so?” is said almost sheepishly, and it’s so unlike him it throws Roadhog for a loop. Starved for attention, craving it.

“Yeah,” he answers, and having all this undivided attention is making him a little uneasy. Junkrat’s face is red even under all that soot and grime.

“Thanks, mate.”

He’s a livewire after that, and Roadhog can’t get him to shut up for anything in this mortal plane.

There’s something he likes about the way Junkrat aims to please. At least he’s doing something instead of being a pain in the ass. Roadhog can take it easier, knowing Junkrat will do anything to impress him, to get him to say that word.

He starts out small, makes him work hard for it. He won’t say it unless he really deserves it. 

A few nights later, Junkrat goes out hunting for nearly two hours, and Roadhog watches his scrawny body fiddle about in the vast expanse of the desert. The man is graceless and clumsy, but he sure can pounce when he needs to. Roadhog relaxes against a cold boulder and takes a moment to doze off. He couldn’t remember the last time he fell asleep to something other than the sound of giggling and mumbling. When Junkrat comes back, he has an armful of scrawny lizards and a bird in his mouth, and Roadhog wants to ask how he managed to even catch it, but he doesn’t. It’s barely worth the time cooking the tiny things, but Junkrat’s eyes are sparkling like firecrackers. He waits patiently, and nothing about Junkrat is patient.

“Looks good, boss.”

There’s a visible buzz that takes over that lanky body, and he smiles so hard he drops the bird into the dirt.

Roadhog starts to like the reactions, despite everything else in his head telling him not to. And maybe that makes Roadhog a little more sadistic.

He’d start to say it when they weren’t even doing anything. Driving and driving and nothing but red and orange mountains. Junkrat talks at him like he always does, about schematics and the ingredients to make “a mighty fine tick-tocker”. He’d point at rocks that he thought looked like faces, or a poison cloud in the distance that kind of looked like animals, if he squinted hard enough. Roadhog could only take the sound for so long before it made his head pulse and his fingers grip the handlebars a little too tight. He’d know what to do.

“Boss,” would shut that trap real tight. If he weren’t paying attention, which he wasn’t, he would have noticed the way Junkrat turned away with raised shoulders, a flesh hand on his mouth and a robotic one pressed between his knees.

It was like that.

He knew there was some sort of sexual gratification attached to the charade, but he’d overlooked it for convenience. Just looking at him was enough to get Junkrat excited, and Roadhog was quite sure he couldn’t see his eyes through the mask, didn’t know where they were directed. But just facing him, turning his head in his direction made him stop and start, stop and start, like some sort of childish game that they were both more than willing to play.

“Boss,” he’d say when they walked into town, any town, every town. Junkrat’s knees would wobble like he were about to buckle to the ground. He’d get tight all around, stiff, and shoot off like a rocket. He’d cackle and burst into every building, regardless of who occupied it, like he was looking for a fight. The ball of energy usually found what he was after, and with Roadhog’s words running through his little brain, he was practically invincible. He’d come away from brawls with nothing but blood on his fists and fire in his eyes. Roadhog would tell him he’d done a good job, and that would make him hoot and holler and burn the place to the ground.

“Boss,” he’d say when they scavenged, when they shopped, when they did anything. Without fail, it was always the same. A whimper, a shiver, a smile. Roadhog is in control, and he likes it. The words grew softer, more frequent, and Junkrat would be a quivering mess every time. Roadhog wouldn’t miss the way his hands palmed at his crotch for a fleeting moment before drawing away, trying to find another distraction.

After a while, he’d wonder when Junkrat would admit he had a problem. Well, it wasn’t a problem for Roadhog.

“You get off to me praising you,” He tells him in the dead of night, when their shelter is a gutted school bus. Junkrat had spent a good half hour pretending to drive it, with speeding car sounds and everything. All the seats had been ripped out or rotted away, and Roadhog had laid a few blankets on the floor of it to make it a somewhat decent place to lay. The full moon shone through dusty broken windows, coloring them gray.

At the question, Junkrat looks like he’s been struck by lightning, and he reluctantly looks away like he’s offended.

“What? No, ya drongo! I just like when ya say I’m the boss! Cuz I am!”

“But you sure like it a lot,” he answers, and big amber eyes burn furiously in the dark, “You touch yourself.”

Junkrat scoffs, but it’s drenched in anxiousness and shame. He’s caught. “Fuck right off, won’t ya?”

“Boss,” Roadhog says, and it is cruel of him. Junkrat reacts immediately, hunched up with fingers curling and twisting aimlessly. “Have you been good, boss?”

Junkrat eyes him curiously, brows furrowed as if he doesn’t know what he’s playing at, but he knows. He has to. They’re silent like the dead land they find themselves in, and Junkrat’s got something rolling around in his head. He’s thinking; dangerous and stupid. The ideas and dreams have been growing in him since the night that started it all. His whole body exudes desperation, and meekness is not his style. It’s not Roadhog’s either.

“Yes,” he whispers, and it’s eaten up by the shifting of his metal leg against the floor of the bus as he scrambles forward. Roadhog intercepts him just as quickly, flipping them over so the skinny junker is pressed hard into the uselessly thin blankets. It’s fast, this transition, and Junkrat looks like he’s going to pass out. He breathes out loud at the mask closing in on him, his eyes unfocused. Roadhog has all the power, like he’s had the whole time, like he’ll always have.

“You’re really into this,” Roadhog grumbles as if it’s a question, squeezing his biceps, and Junkrat is nodding and twitching and he looks ready to burst. He opens his legs for Roadhog to press between. “You think you can handle it, boss?”

The nodding continues, even more vigorously, and Junkrat should have a headache with how fast his head is moving. He’s gnawing at his lip like he’s going to eat it. “I’m good.”

“You’re good,” Roadhog parrots back, and Junkrat moans softly. His big hands move from his arms to his sides, pressing down heavy to follow with feather light touches. Hard and soft. With his arms free, Junkrat pulls them up over Roadhog’s shoulders and grabs any flesh that he can.

“More,” he whines as Roadhog toys with the fraying edges of his shorts, and they’re so loose on his bony little hips he can just tug them right off. Junkrat pivots gently to ease them down his legs, and he’s at full attention, maybe even too close to the edge already. His cock twitches, wet at the tip, and Roadhog immediately takes hold of it. Junkrat shivers and squirms and can’t stop moving, and it’s making the hardness in his own pants beg for attention. “Tell me more.”

“You look nice like this,” and Roadhog has to laugh at the glassy eyes staring at him with complete and utter adoration. “You look good under me.”

Junkrat is practically vibrating, and Roadhog pumps him slow, torturous, just like his words. “How’s that, boss?”

“Ya killing me!” he cries, and it’s choked and absolutely erotic. His metal fingers pinch at his neck while the real ones try to wrap further around his shoulder. Roadhog can’t help but appreciate the face Junkrat is making, mouth open and drooling while he strokes him with a hard tight fist.

“You feel good, boss?” And his words are a quiet rumble, barely above the sound of gasping and whining and moaning. It is so loud.

“Yes! Yes, yes, yeah,” he mutters back, rolling his hips against him, into his rough hand. It was starting to get dry with how much he was thrusting, greedy. Roadhog lets go of him, and there’s a sad sound coming from that loud mouth, but he’s working the sharp metal license plate and cage off of his pants, unbuttoning them enough to work out his own erection. It’s hearty, and Junkrat’s eyes immediately look down at it in awe, a needy groan making Roadhog chuckle.

“God,” Junkrat whimpers, gripping his shoulders harder, “Fuck yeah.”

“Not yet, boss.” Roadhog feels the flesh hand move down to try and touch it, but he pushes it away, putting it back on his shoulder. “No. I’ve got you.”

Junkrat worries his lip some more, and he’s sure it’s going to be bloody soon, but he’s trembling and nodding again. “Yeah.”

Roadhog hikes a leg higher up against his waist, and Junkrat is goo in his hands. He lifts his mask up a little to spit into his palm, and it’s hot when he slathers it on his cock. He tilts his head so the mask slips back down, and Junkrat is grinding against him now, pushing what little weight he had directly down on his junk. Roadhog’s hands are so big it’s easy to take them both into one palm, squeezing. Junkrat is losing his mind.

“So good,” he hisses through clenched teeth, but his mouth is open wide again, throwing his head back as Roadhog starts pumping. It’s slick and warm now.

“Perfect,” Roadhog murmurs, and Junkrat cries out at the sound of it. The rhythm is casual, despite the desperation that Junkrat is obviously stricken with. Roadhog presses his hips between the kid’s legs, and his belly crushes both of their cocks with each gentle thrust. Junkrat’s flesh foot presses to his side, the dirty bandages soft and worn on his sweaty skin. 

They rock into each other, and Roadhog is vaguely aware that the bus is rocking with them, metal squeaking buried beneath the sound of Junkrat’s pleas for more. The pitch in his voice is getting higher, louder, and his eyes are starting to cross like he’s suffocating. What an odd face, but then again Junkrat was odd in everything he did. Whatever the case, Roadhog groans. Being able to make Junkrat look like that sends tremors through his guts.

“You gonna cum, boss?”

Junkrat nods, pulling Roadhog against him tightly. It’s just a few more quick jerks and suddenly his hand is full of thick hot cum, a shrill gasp in his ear and legs snaring him in place. He grips them together hard as he achieves his own orgasm, a roar muffled by old leather and plastic filters. Junkrat leans up to bite the snout of his mask, stifling his own scream as he’s milked hard. It’s a beautiful feeling of tightness releasing, of pulling and pushing until they’re both shaking and panting in unison.

Junkrat lets go of the mask with a huffed breath, a string of saliva following him until it breaks away. His eyes are blurry and out of it, and he crashes back onto the floor of the bus.

Roadhog hums in satisfaction, pulling up a corner of the old blanket to wipe down his hand and their bellies. Junkrat takes in a sharp breath as he ghosts over his spent cock, and his head lolls to the side, arms up, defenseless. Roadhog can’t help thinking that it’s a good look for him

“Roadie,” he whispers, and he blinks slow and tired. He stares out into the open back of the bus, into the black outside. “How’d I do?”

“Good,” Roadhog answers. “You did good, boss.”

There’s that soft stupid smile on his face again, blinking dazedly. Gold teeth shine in the dull white of the moon. His fingers lace together over his stomach, and the twitching and fidgeting Roadhog is so used to is gone. Calm like the hot desert night, still as the mountains around them.

“Good.”

**Author's Note:**

> Froggyflan.tumblr.com


End file.
